OOC: In the unlikely event he's reading this, thanks to Matt Tilling for
the octopus joke.
Cat-Tails was a triumph.
We admit this begrudgingly it has to be said. We were still annoyed at Selina for exposing our world for the mainstream's examination. We still felt betrayed.
The audience seemed suitably entertained anyway, much to our initial annoyance. Polite laughter soon gave way to a cacophony of slightly impolite guffaws, until slowly but surely the entire theatre hall was rocking with mirth at Selina's innumerable anecdotes, impressions and stories of adventure and romance.
We say Selina's stories were every good - lets not get confused here - the woman on the stage was most definitely Catwoman, and was openly flaunting this fact. The twinkle in her eye, the way she carried herself, even her very posture - this was Selina in Catwoman mode alright.
(Maybe that explains why Gordon walked out in a Commissioner sized huff at the interval. Perhaps the policeman in him simply couldn't take beig in the same theatre as someone he should really be trying to bust. Or maybe it was Selina saying to him, "I didn't shoot you did I Jim?", waiting for him to answer and then pointing out it was a rhetorical question, much to everyone's cruel amusement. We can't be sure. We do know that the poor sap will never sit in the front row again though.)
Watching the show, we suddenly felt very annoyed. It struck us suddenly that we were not the only being in Gotham with two personalities living in the same fleshy capsule. Selina herself, it could be argued, especially by us who knew her better than most, had two distinct personas. It was just that one of hers wore a skin-tight purple costume and the other didn't. Even Batman presumably has another identity when he's not in the costume although we do doubt that with increasing frequency.
(A note on Bat's aforementioned costume - Jack's right you know. Someday he WILL trip over that cape. Don't tell Selina this but the rest of us actually have a pool going - when he trips over it, whoever he happens to be attempting to bust at the time scoops the jackpot. Our money's on Ra's Al Ghul. As is his strangely.)
The only thing that separated these personas was a costume. Certainly in the minds of others, and possibly even in the minds of the afflicted. Something had gone wrong with our costume, which had resulted in our rushing onto the stage only half clothed, but other than that we were no different to any of them. And yet we get such a bad press for it!
We sulkily began flipping the coin as the interval began. We didn't even bother to cower as Gordon stormed past.
We sprang up from our seat as Sherlock Holmes might from his armchair. Jack seemed startled by our sudden movement - so much so that he stopped demonstrating to the complaining (and now terrified) man in front how to make a balloon animal giraffe, and stared at us.
"Look Tutu, if you have haemorrhoids, I know this great little all night pharmacist on the corner of Woodstock and Vine."
"Shut up Jack. We're going to go and get plastered. Behave yourself until we get back and we'll give you a Lolly Pop."
"What flavour?"
"Strawberry." We lied. It was a lime one that had been collecting fluff in our jacket pocket since Harley's birthday party.
"Cool!" said Jack. "TTFN!" He waved at us enthusiastically before turning to the now vacant seat in front of us. His captive audience was attempting to make a swift get away. Jack grabbed him by the shoulder, yanking him back into his seat, laughing heartily. He didn't seem to notice how pale the man was looking suddenly.
We turned to go back and do the responsible thing, but the urge for alcohol was strong, especially after the day we had had. Our throat felt dry and parched. It groaned at us. But we also felt we should be making sure Jack didn't get into any more trouble. . . ironically there was only one reasonable solution.
The coin landed squarely in the centre of our palm. We looked down.
Jack's a big boy, we reasoned. He can look after himself. And he did promise not to kill anyone tonight. . . and far more importantly we wanted to get drunk.
We returned to our seat, slightly unsteadily, as the interval ended. We brushed off the pile of balloon animals that had suddenly materialised on it, and tried to get Jack's attention. He had his arm round his unfortunate victim's shoulder in a gesture that should have been friendly, but coming from him even we found a little menacing. He was in the midst of a joke when we came over.
"And so the guy who brought the octopus into the bar says to the Bartender, 'I bet you a drink that this octopus can play that Piano.' The Bartender of course isn't too impressed, and says 'Yeah sure, I'll give you a free drink if that octopus can play that Piano.' Did I mention there's a piano in this bar? Well there is. It's a fairly high-class establishment. Anyway, the octopus goes over to the piano and plays it perfectly. Many of the regulars comment it's the most beautiful version of The Entertainer they have ever heard. The Bartender is very impressed so gives the man his drink. The man then takes off his rucksack - did I mention he's wearing a rucksack? Well he's wearing a rucksack - and takes out a violin - the same bargain is made, except this time with a violin obviously. The octopus is given the violin, and he plays it beautifully. Many of the regulars are reduced to tears at the beauty of the sad little song he plays. The bartender is now incredibly impressed, and so asks if the octopus plays any more instruments. The man says sure, gives his octopus a trumpet, the octopus plays as if he was leading a marching band. The man then says he is so confident in his octopus' ability that he's taking requests. The bartender - who's from Glasgow like I said - takes his prize possession from behind the bar - a set of bagpipes. They bagpipes are given to the octopus. He doesn't play them though. He crawls all over them, fiddles with the pipes, you know, all that shit, but he doesn't play the bagpipes. The man who brought him in, by now he's getting a little jumpy, he's pulling at his collar, sweating a little, you know. Well, he goes over to the octopus, who's still struggling with the bagpipes and says to him, 'What are you doing buddy?' The octopus turns to him and says 'I'm trying to work out how I can get the Pyjamas off this thing so I can give it a good fucking!' HAHAHAHAHA!"
Jack nearly wet himself laughing. We quietly advised the man in front it was probably a good idea he laugh as well.
You know, we can understand just why Jack was forced to turn to crime. That really is his idea of a good joke. We're not making this shit up people! We're also sorry to include it, taking up as it does a pretty vast space on the page, but we wanted to give you a good idea of what we have to put up with, and try and show you just how lonely we feel.
Imagine it. You're a successful district attorney, OK, maybe a little obsessed with the job, but you're happily married, trying for a baby, that kinda thing. In a matter of seconds you're life is changed forever, doomed to an eternity of referring to yourself in the plural and using a fricking coin to decide whether or not you're going to get up today. Socially, your forced to hang out with some of the most vile scum Gotham has to offer or die of loneliness like a heroine in some eighteenth century poem. And we sure as hell ain't the fucking Lady of Shallot.
Hopefully now you can appreciate just why it is that we love Selina so. She is a light in the darkness, our best friend, our rock if you will. Arguably the only other (some would drop the other of this statement) sane member of the rogues gallery. It was therefore with some trepidation that we realised we had come here tonight with the sole intention of arguing with her. Of telling her off even. And we knew from past experience just how badly she took these little chats.
Gulping heavily, we settled back into our seat, ready for the second act.
This one was crammed full of impressions. She had shared with us her penchant for impressions before, but never on this scale, and never in such a protracted burst before. If the audience had been laughing before, now they were totally overwhelmed with mirth. She had them completely wrapped around her little finger and she must have loved it. We had mixed feelings about it - arguably nothing new for us- especially as she broke into an impression we had never heard before - us.
We aren't sure if it was satire or not, but she makes Harv sound like James Earl Jones, whereas Twoface sounds like he's been having a quick puff on a helium pump. It is a little OTT, it must be said, which makes us think that it was satire. Maybe she's trying to capture his whiny nature - who knows.
He'll make us run into a wall later for writing this, but we just don't care.
Half of us was totally incensed. It should be fairly obvious which half. Half of us found it vaguely amusing, even if she had blown our condition out of all proportion.
Essentially, she did an impression of us arguing in which one of us had left the toilet seat up. Harv pointing out that we share the same body, Twoface getting annoyed and shrieking things about Harv's mother, only for Harv to exasperatedly point out that we share the same mother as well.
Watching it, we argued amongst ourselves as to whether or not go and forcefully point out to Selina how wrong she was (with the emphasis on the point) when we realised 1) just what we were doing and 2) that it completely proved her point.
Jack was in his element. If there was one thing he loved more than Saturday morning cartoons then it was the chance to mock his fellow rogues. At our request earlier he had thus far managed to stifle his giggles, but as Selina broke into a particularly Marilyn-eque Harley impression, he just couldn't help himself any more and dissolved into that trademark laughter of his.
It's high pitched peal rang out around the Playhouse, turning a fair few heads. Leaning on our elbow, we covered our face with our hand, completely exasperated, peeking out through the gap in our fingers. We noticed out of the corner of our eye that Plastic Man fortunately had not moved, his visor remaining steadfastly focused on Miss Kyle.
Who was looking straight at us. Feeling like a Grand Piano had just been dropped onto our stomach, we weakly waved. She grinned.
Now, for those of you who have not had the pleasure of 'the grin', or 'the naughty grin' as Selina refers to it, let us assure you that its more than capable of stopping any red blooded man dead in his tracks from a good 50 yards away. It in itself is also more than worth the price of admission, so if Cat-Tails is still running when you reach this, and you are of the Y chromosome persuasion, then we strongly recommend you go and see the show.
That grin usually means that she's going to do something ludicrously naughty or cheeky. We thought we had an idea, and covered our face even more.
She broke into the most amazing Joker impressions we have ever heard. She captures his voice, mannerisms, and even his ridiculous insistence on jokes perfectly. It was like there was suddenly two Jokers in the Playhouse, which would have suited our needs but at the same time driven us to an early grave bearing in mind the trouble we were having with just one of them. One of them suddenly seemed less happy as well.
Jack sat at our side, pouting like a five-year-old, muttering incoherently. We allowed ourselves a small chuckle at some of her wonderful impressions of him, and he glared at us with a look that the Medusa of mythology would have been proud of. Which made us chuckle even more naturally.
He's not a big fan of the taste apparently.
Of his own medicine that is.
Cat-Tails was a triumph.
We admit this begrudgingly it has to be said. We were still annoyed at Selina for exposing our world for the mainstream's examination. We still felt betrayed.
The audience seemed suitably entertained anyway, much to our initial annoyance. Polite laughter soon gave way to a cacophony of slightly impolite guffaws, until slowly but surely the entire theatre hall was rocking with mirth at Selina's innumerable anecdotes, impressions and stories of adventure and romance.
We say Selina's stories were every good - lets not get confused here - the woman on the stage was most definitely Catwoman, and was openly flaunting this fact. The twinkle in her eye, the way she carried herself, even her very posture - this was Selina in Catwoman mode alright.
(Maybe that explains why Gordon walked out in a Commissioner sized huff at the interval. Perhaps the policeman in him simply couldn't take beig in the same theatre as someone he should really be trying to bust. Or maybe it was Selina saying to him, "I didn't shoot you did I Jim?", waiting for him to answer and then pointing out it was a rhetorical question, much to everyone's cruel amusement. We can't be sure. We do know that the poor sap will never sit in the front row again though.)
Watching the show, we suddenly felt very annoyed. It struck us suddenly that we were not the only being in Gotham with two personalities living in the same fleshy capsule. Selina herself, it could be argued, especially by us who knew her better than most, had two distinct personas. It was just that one of hers wore a skin-tight purple costume and the other didn't. Even Batman presumably has another identity when he's not in the costume although we do doubt that with increasing frequency.
(A note on Bat's aforementioned costume - Jack's right you know. Someday he WILL trip over that cape. Don't tell Selina this but the rest of us actually have a pool going - when he trips over it, whoever he happens to be attempting to bust at the time scoops the jackpot. Our money's on Ra's Al Ghul. As is his strangely.)
The only thing that separated these personas was a costume. Certainly in the minds of others, and possibly even in the minds of the afflicted. Something had gone wrong with our costume, which had resulted in our rushing onto the stage only half clothed, but other than that we were no different to any of them. And yet we get such a bad press for it!
We sulkily began flipping the coin as the interval began. We didn't even bother to cower as Gordon stormed past.
We sprang up from our seat as Sherlock Holmes might from his armchair. Jack seemed startled by our sudden movement - so much so that he stopped demonstrating to the complaining (and now terrified) man in front how to make a balloon animal giraffe, and stared at us.
"Look Tutu, if you have haemorrhoids, I know this great little all night pharmacist on the corner of Woodstock and Vine."
"Shut up Jack. We're going to go and get plastered. Behave yourself until we get back and we'll give you a Lolly Pop."
"What flavour?"
"Strawberry." We lied. It was a lime one that had been collecting fluff in our jacket pocket since Harley's birthday party.
"Cool!" said Jack. "TTFN!" He waved at us enthusiastically before turning to the now vacant seat in front of us. His captive audience was attempting to make a swift get away. Jack grabbed him by the shoulder, yanking him back into his seat, laughing heartily. He didn't seem to notice how pale the man was looking suddenly.
We turned to go back and do the responsible thing, but the urge for alcohol was strong, especially after the day we had had. Our throat felt dry and parched. It groaned at us. But we also felt we should be making sure Jack didn't get into any more trouble. . . ironically there was only one reasonable solution.
The coin landed squarely in the centre of our palm. We looked down.
Jack's a big boy, we reasoned. He can look after himself. And he did promise not to kill anyone tonight. . . and far more importantly we wanted to get drunk.
We returned to our seat, slightly unsteadily, as the interval ended. We brushed off the pile of balloon animals that had suddenly materialised on it, and tried to get Jack's attention. He had his arm round his unfortunate victim's shoulder in a gesture that should have been friendly, but coming from him even we found a little menacing. He was in the midst of a joke when we came over.
"And so the guy who brought the octopus into the bar says to the Bartender, 'I bet you a drink that this octopus can play that Piano.' The Bartender of course isn't too impressed, and says 'Yeah sure, I'll give you a free drink if that octopus can play that Piano.' Did I mention there's a piano in this bar? Well there is. It's a fairly high-class establishment. Anyway, the octopus goes over to the piano and plays it perfectly. Many of the regulars comment it's the most beautiful version of The Entertainer they have ever heard. The Bartender is very impressed so gives the man his drink. The man then takes off his rucksack - did I mention he's wearing a rucksack? Well he's wearing a rucksack - and takes out a violin - the same bargain is made, except this time with a violin obviously. The octopus is given the violin, and he plays it beautifully. Many of the regulars are reduced to tears at the beauty of the sad little song he plays. The bartender is now incredibly impressed, and so asks if the octopus plays any more instruments. The man says sure, gives his octopus a trumpet, the octopus plays as if he was leading a marching band. The man then says he is so confident in his octopus' ability that he's taking requests. The bartender - who's from Glasgow like I said - takes his prize possession from behind the bar - a set of bagpipes. They bagpipes are given to the octopus. He doesn't play them though. He crawls all over them, fiddles with the pipes, you know, all that shit, but he doesn't play the bagpipes. The man who brought him in, by now he's getting a little jumpy, he's pulling at his collar, sweating a little, you know. Well, he goes over to the octopus, who's still struggling with the bagpipes and says to him, 'What are you doing buddy?' The octopus turns to him and says 'I'm trying to work out how I can get the Pyjamas off this thing so I can give it a good fucking!' HAHAHAHAHA!"
Jack nearly wet himself laughing. We quietly advised the man in front it was probably a good idea he laugh as well.
You know, we can understand just why Jack was forced to turn to crime. That really is his idea of a good joke. We're not making this shit up people! We're also sorry to include it, taking up as it does a pretty vast space on the page, but we wanted to give you a good idea of what we have to put up with, and try and show you just how lonely we feel.
Imagine it. You're a successful district attorney, OK, maybe a little obsessed with the job, but you're happily married, trying for a baby, that kinda thing. In a matter of seconds you're life is changed forever, doomed to an eternity of referring to yourself in the plural and using a fricking coin to decide whether or not you're going to get up today. Socially, your forced to hang out with some of the most vile scum Gotham has to offer or die of loneliness like a heroine in some eighteenth century poem. And we sure as hell ain't the fucking Lady of Shallot.
Hopefully now you can appreciate just why it is that we love Selina so. She is a light in the darkness, our best friend, our rock if you will. Arguably the only other (some would drop the other of this statement) sane member of the rogues gallery. It was therefore with some trepidation that we realised we had come here tonight with the sole intention of arguing with her. Of telling her off even. And we knew from past experience just how badly she took these little chats.
Gulping heavily, we settled back into our seat, ready for the second act.
This one was crammed full of impressions. She had shared with us her penchant for impressions before, but never on this scale, and never in such a protracted burst before. If the audience had been laughing before, now they were totally overwhelmed with mirth. She had them completely wrapped around her little finger and she must have loved it. We had mixed feelings about it - arguably nothing new for us- especially as she broke into an impression we had never heard before - us.
We aren't sure if it was satire or not, but she makes Harv sound like James Earl Jones, whereas Twoface sounds like he's been having a quick puff on a helium pump. It is a little OTT, it must be said, which makes us think that it was satire. Maybe she's trying to capture his whiny nature - who knows.
He'll make us run into a wall later for writing this, but we just don't care.
Half of us was totally incensed. It should be fairly obvious which half. Half of us found it vaguely amusing, even if she had blown our condition out of all proportion.
Essentially, she did an impression of us arguing in which one of us had left the toilet seat up. Harv pointing out that we share the same body, Twoface getting annoyed and shrieking things about Harv's mother, only for Harv to exasperatedly point out that we share the same mother as well.
Watching it, we argued amongst ourselves as to whether or not go and forcefully point out to Selina how wrong she was (with the emphasis on the point) when we realised 1) just what we were doing and 2) that it completely proved her point.
Jack was in his element. If there was one thing he loved more than Saturday morning cartoons then it was the chance to mock his fellow rogues. At our request earlier he had thus far managed to stifle his giggles, but as Selina broke into a particularly Marilyn-eque Harley impression, he just couldn't help himself any more and dissolved into that trademark laughter of his.
It's high pitched peal rang out around the Playhouse, turning a fair few heads. Leaning on our elbow, we covered our face with our hand, completely exasperated, peeking out through the gap in our fingers. We noticed out of the corner of our eye that Plastic Man fortunately had not moved, his visor remaining steadfastly focused on Miss Kyle.
Who was looking straight at us. Feeling like a Grand Piano had just been dropped onto our stomach, we weakly waved. She grinned.
Now, for those of you who have not had the pleasure of 'the grin', or 'the naughty grin' as Selina refers to it, let us assure you that its more than capable of stopping any red blooded man dead in his tracks from a good 50 yards away. It in itself is also more than worth the price of admission, so if Cat-Tails is still running when you reach this, and you are of the Y chromosome persuasion, then we strongly recommend you go and see the show.
That grin usually means that she's going to do something ludicrously naughty or cheeky. We thought we had an idea, and covered our face even more.
She broke into the most amazing Joker impressions we have ever heard. She captures his voice, mannerisms, and even his ridiculous insistence on jokes perfectly. It was like there was suddenly two Jokers in the Playhouse, which would have suited our needs but at the same time driven us to an early grave bearing in mind the trouble we were having with just one of them. One of them suddenly seemed less happy as well.
Jack sat at our side, pouting like a five-year-old, muttering incoherently. We allowed ourselves a small chuckle at some of her wonderful impressions of him, and he glared at us with a look that the Medusa of mythology would have been proud of. Which made us chuckle even more naturally.
He's not a big fan of the taste apparently.
Of his own medicine that is.
